Open Hands
by TuAutemCumDeamonia
Summary: When what we've lost tears us to shreds, who will be there to stitch us back up? AU


Clarke hadn't slept in almost forty hours; something she was becoming more aware of by the minute, but she couldn't seem to pull herself away from the canvas that nearly covered one side of her cluttered bedroom. Paint was smeared all over her arms as well as her tattered 'Camp Jaha Counselor' t-shirt she wore, not to mention her hair. But she couldn't be bothered; she's been engrossed in this piece since she woke up the previous morning, something inside urging her to put her dream down on canvas.

Her dad's old CD player stood on her end table by the bed, the melodies of some obscure band loudly filling the room; her attempt at keeping herself awake as the hollow bass drum beat through the walls.

She managed to get a few more strokes on canvas before the CD player abruptly stopped reading the disk, screeching replacing the music she was barely listening to. She scrambled for the device, too tired to switch it off properly so instead just pulling the cord from the wall.

It was only then, in the deafening silence her actions had left, that she heard the sound of glass breaking.

She was wide awake now, running towards her front door without even thinking about what could be waiting for her on the other side. She burst through the door, her eyes scanning the hallway that was filling up with frightened tenants all trying to make sense of the racket.

Two doors down the hall from her own, she spotted Mr. Wallace, who was staring at the apartment across from his with fear and confusion. She walked up to the old man, her eyes following his before she looked back at him.

"Mr. Wallace, you shouldn't be out here." She told him.

"The hell I do." He swore, taking a labored breath to steady himself. "That new girl is breaking the place down." He nodded his head towards the apartment.

"Mr. Wallace, just go back inside. Lock the door behind you." She ordered, slowly starting across the hall.

The old man huffed but did as she told him, grumbling something about not getting a deposit back. Most of the other tenants followed suit, and soon Clarke was alone in front of the new girl's door. She stood there for a full minute, waiting for any sign that the breaking would continue. When it didn't, she dared to knock.

It didn't surprise her that no one would answer.

"Is everything alright?" She asked softly. "It's Clarke, from three-B. Can I come in?" Still no answer. She twisted the doorknob slightly, surprised to find it unlocked. "Hello?"

She opened the door slowly, forcing whatever was blocking it from the inside out of the way and stepping inside as her eyes took in the scene in front of her.

The living room was in chaos; lamps lay toppled, shards of glass were scattered across the deep burgundy carpet by the door, and Clarke was suddenly grateful that she was still wearing her slippers. Every item in the room, it seemed, had taken a hit; everything except a small cardboard box that stood on the coffee table, next to an untouched bottle of Scotch.

Another tentative step inside showed her more of the damage and it was clear that the coffee table was the only untouched piece of furniture, the eye of the storm. There was more broken glass strewn across the rug.

Some stained with blood.

Clarke's heart started racing, her mind running through every possible scenario as she turned around, looking for whoever had been injured.

The apartment was structurally identical to Clarke's own; a small living room that flowed into an even smaller kitchen, a single bathroom and a bedroom in the back. And though the living room was a disaster it was clear that whoever lived in the apartment wasn't hiding in there, so Clarke started towards the bedroom.

She wasn't surprised to find the mattress upturned, pillows and comforters strewn across the floor. A single red smear was dragged across the closet to her right and she knew it was blood, her eyes darting across the room.

She would have looked right past the girl if she hadn't needed to catch her breath.

She was sitting on the floor behind the mattress with her back pressed up against the wall, one hand clenched into a bloody fist on her knees, the other lost in her dark hair. Tears stained her cheeks and her grey-green eyes were unfocused, staring down at nothing as though it was all she could see.

"Oh god," Clarke knelt by her side, gently taking the girl's wrist in her paint-smeared hands. She was shaking. "What happened?"

A faint whisper vaguely explained "It broke." Clarke looked up at the girl as a single tear slid down her cheek. Reaching out, she placed a hand to the girl's cheek, using her thumb to wipe it away. The girl blinked, pulled from the depths of her own mind, and focused her eyes on Clarke, who gave her an encouraging smile.

"What's your name?" Clarke asked.

"Lexa," Came another whisper.

"Lexa, we're going go to my apartment down the hall, okay? I need to take a look at your hand." Lexa's nod was almost imperceptible. "Great. You're going to need to hold onto my shoulders and stand up slowly."

Lexa stumbled slightly and Clarke reached an arm around her waist, holding her up. Together they maneuvered through the disarray and out the front door, which Clarke helped Lexa lock before continuing down the hall.

Once they were back inside, Clarke settled Lexa on the small blue couch before disappearing into her bedroom. She was back a minute later, all the paint scrubbed from her arms and a first aid kit in hand.

She took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, taking out the few medical supplies she'd need. When she was ready, she reached over and took Lexa's arm, guiding the injured hand closer to her so she could begin cleaning it.

"This might sting a bit." Clarke whispered, glancing up to see Lexa watching her with a dejected calm as though pain was nothing new. Clarke looked back down at the cut, her brows furrowed at the thought of what could have happened, knowing she wouldn't ask.

She'd cleaned and stitched up the cut in a matter of minutes, only by sheer luck that there were no glass shards still imbedded in the skin, and was in the middle of dressing it when Lexa spoke again.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." She said, her voice raw. She couldn't meet Clarke's gaze.

"You don't have to apologize." Clarke said, fastening the gauze, her fingers unconsciously curling around Lexa's hand. She looked up, tracing Lexa's face. Lexa's eyes were wide, staring at their hands, and Clarke heard rather than saw the girl swallow before she gently tugged her hand out of Clarke's grasp.

"I should go." Lexa murmured, lifting herself from the couch.

"You don't have to." Clarke said, standing up and taking a small step toward Lexa. "Something upset you and – as much as I want to – I won't ask, but you need to rest. And honestly, I don't think you will if you go back tonight."

Lexa could feel her chest tighten; she knew that Clarke was right. Rest would be next to impossible when all she was surrounded by were memories. So she just nodded, her eyes glued to the floor.

"I laid some clothes out. It's on the bed, that way." Clarke continued, pointing over her shoulder. "You can change in there while I make us some tea, okay?

Lexa had reluctantly accepted Clarke's offer to stay the night, knowing that it would be impossible to still her mind in her own apartment. However, this didn't make Lexa feel any less that she was intruding as she started towards Clarke's bedroom.

The door stood open and Lexa could see the neatly folded pile of clothing on the edge of the double bed. She reached for the powder-blue sweater that lay on top, marveling at how soft it felt beneath her fingertips.

Placing the top back down on the bed, she turned back to close the door behind her, glancing toward the kitchen before the door closed with a soft 'click'. She stripped, removing the blood-stained shirt and torn jeans, folding them up and placing them in a neat pile on an end table next to an old CD player.

The sweater was a little big and she absently wondered how it fit Clarke's smaller frame. The grey leggings Clarke had laid out fit her perfectly, though.

She was about to leave, turning towards the bedroom door, when she saw the painting. It was clear that it wasn't finished yet – the fresh paint meant that Clarke was probably busy with it before everything happened – but Lexa was frozen in awe.

It was their apartment building, or rather the ruins thereof, standing desolate, surrounded by a fluorescent forest threatening to engulf it. Peering above the tree-tops was a crescent moon, big enough to be seen but not to distract from the number of stars and the luminescent plants, while hidden in one of the darker areas of the painting was a two-headed deer.

She must have been standing there for quite some time, seeing that Clarke had come looking for her. There was a soft knock on the door before Clarke's face appeared in the doorway, a small smile on her lips. "Everything okay?" She asked, taking a few steps into the room when Lexa didn't move.

Then she saw what Lexa was staring at and she chuckled. "Too weird?" She asked and Lexa looked down at the blonde who was standing with one arm outstretched, holding a cup of tea towards Lexa. "I didn't know if you wanted sugar or milk."

She took the cup from Clarke, trying her best not to linger on how warm Clarke's hands were. It was probably just the tea. Probably. "This is fine, thank you." She took a small sip of the steaming tea, grateful for the heat flooding her body.

Lexa was still mesmerized by the painting, though as they stood there looking, Lexa could feel Clarke's eyes on her. She glanced at Clarke; surprised when the blonde didn't avert her gaze when she was obviously caught staring, but Clarke just smiled a sweet half smile before moving to set her cup down on the nearby dresser.

"Now, since I don't know how you feel about sharing," she said, walking over to and pulling one of the pillows from her bed. Lexa just kept watching her, eyes wide, "you can sleep in here tonight. I'll be on the couch, if you need anything…at…" her sentence trailed of as she tried to, unsuccessfully, stifle a yawn. The adrenaline had worn off making her exhaustion worse.

"Clarke, it's—" Lexa murmurs, her thumbs tracing patterns on the cup she still held.

"Sorry." Clarke didn't seem to have heard her. "Will you be okay on your own?"

Lexa wanted to say no. She wanted to ask Clarke if she'd stay, to sit with her, at least until she fell asleep. She didn't want to be alone right now, not with the thoughts and memories swirling through her head.

But Clarke had already done enough opening her doors to her, even if for just one night. So she gave a quick nod and a soft "yes" before turning to place her cup on the end table.

Clarke was gone by the time she looked back.

It was late.

Or was it early? Lexa couldn't tell.

She knew she'd gone to bed hours ago, but she hadn't been able to close her eyes for more than a few minutes before the nightmares started.

They were all about _her_; about the blood and the boy's face and how she wasn't there to save her.

Images burned into her memory playing through her mind in an infinite loop, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't push them away long enough to sleep. So she lay staring at the ceiling instead, counting her breaths.

She heard the bedroom door creak open at three-hundred and seven.

With the dim light of the TV flickering in the other room, Lexa could vaguely make out Clarke's silhouette peering in. Lexa held her breath, waiting for the girl to say something or move, but she simply stood there. And, for what felt like minutes, Lexa was left wondering why.

It was just as Lexa couldn't hold out any longer, the girl's name already falling from her lips that Clarke decided to move, halting when she heard Lexa's voice.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to see if you were okay." Clarke apologized, still hanging on the door.

"You didn't." Lexa said as she sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard.

"Mind if I come in?" Clarke asked, and Lexa could hear the faint smile in her voice.

"This is _your_ bedroom, Clarke." The words came out harsher than she intended, but to her surprise Clarke laughed, stumbling over towards the bed and settling herself next to Lexa. She lay back against the headboard, threw her hands onto her lap and despite the dark, Lexa could still see a small smile on her lips.

"It's nice to finally meet you, by the way." Clarke said, tilting her head as she smiled at Lexa. "We've been neighbors for what, four weeks?"

Lexa stared down at her lap; she didn't know what she could say to explain why they've only just met. Maybe because there was no explanation other than 'I don't want anyone to get too close to me because I fear getting them hurt'.

Clarke saw Lexa retreat and she placed a hand on Lexa's arm. "Hey, all I'm saying is it's nice to know your name."

Lexa smiled, and though short-lived, it was real.

They settled into an odd but comfortable silence after that, both content with just having someone nearby, and it wasn't long before Lexa managed to drift into a dreamless sleep. It was only later that she'd recall Clarke moving her into a more comfortable position and tucking her in under the covers before she disappeared once more.


End file.
